Just Harry
by Demented Inu
Summary: It started as a bad habit. HarryDraco.


A/N: For my own personal Draco Malfoy, who has helped me through some pretty hard times, and who has showed me that sometimes the right choice isn't always the easy one. 3

It was simply a bad habit, at first. No worse than biting your nails.

The days during my seventh year at school were rough. McGonagall holding makeshift classes in the ruins of the castle, the classrooms reduced to mostly rubble, but we made do, somehow. Ron was always the first to complain – "But why do I need school? I fought in the War, isn't that enough?" – and Hermione, being Hermione, was just content to have some sort of semblance of normality in Voldemort's absence.

But that's all it was, really: a semblance. It wasn't real school, and we weren't the students that we were when we were younger. Now we had real experience. We had, all three of us, witnessed death firsthand, had watched the life leave the eyes of our families, of our friends. Of people that we had never spoken to, people we'd never gotten to know the names of, people that we wish now we could have known.

McGonagall wasn't too surprised when Narcissa Malfoy showed up one afternoon with her son, demanding his education no matter the price.

Draco and I, needless to stay, were still not exactly friends.

I would watch him as he took the lessons only grudgingly, not really forgetting whose side he had chosen in the end. He didn't know that I watched him like this, and even if he did, he didn't seem to mind. I liked watching him, as disturbing as the thought was to me. He was like an animal under my observation.

Ron and Malfoy would still fight. Hell, more than fight, they would try to kill one another right in the middle of the hallway. Ron throwing curses about Draco's inability to just choose a fucking side and stick with it, and Malfoy's shouts of anything that would piss Ron off.

And I would just ignore them. Neutrally.

But the times would come when the stress would build, whether it be due to news of new Death Eater attacks or a test coming up. I would go into a trance at these times, hiding my face in my arms and pretending that the world didn't exist. I had done my part. I had fulfilled my purpose to Dumbledore, and had defeated Tom Riddle. There was nothing left for me.

And Malfoy did something that I would've never expected from him.

He offered me help.

"I knew whose side I was fighting for, in the end," he had told me, his eyes trying to convey meaning to me that I hadn't seen before. They were more blue than silver to me when I looked closely, far too closely for comfort, and I still wonder if they had really changed at all. "Look," he'd added, when he saw my look of disbelief. "Maybe I made a few mistakes here and there. I mean… we can't all be the great Harry Potter, now can we?"

Friends. We were finally sharing something resembling a friendship; a light touch here and there, a look passed between us in the hall, a whispered word. Something that I would normally share with Ron, if he wasn't so busy with his hands up Hermione's shirt.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and in all this time I made sure that Ron remained oblivious. He was too distracted by Hermione anyway, with her soft features and quiet laughter. I needed something sturdier than them even back then, and I let Draco know how much I appreciated his sudden redemption.

A trip to the bar and seven bottles of Firewhiskey later, and he had me up against the wall with his face in my neck and his hand down my pants.

Surprisingly, I didn't regret a second.

Ron had no idea. Still grinning, still an arm around Hermione's shoulder. He would ask me only occasionally if I was all right, if he'd missed something in the past few weeks, and each time I politely told him no. I was fine; I had somebody now, somebody that wasn't the illusion that Ginny was to me.

I kept going back to Draco. Each time that feeling of incompletion would settle, I would go back to him. He didn't seem to mind, and welcomed me as warmly as a Malfoy could. He made very clear his intentions, none of which were to harm.

"What now?" I asked him once, when he had his arms around my middle.

"Hmm?" he'd mumbled against my skin, eyes opening only momentarily.

"I've defeated Voldemort, haven't I? I've done what I need to… now what?"

He'd only blinked at me confusedly, and then he seemed to understand.

"Now," he said, "you get to be Harry."

He loved me for Harry.

The habit continued. I would go, and he would offer, and I would take. It became a weekly ritual if not a daily one, and I lost track of how many touches we shared, and how many kisses were given, and how many whispers we passed.

All my life, people had simply only seen the scar, the Savior. All my life, the Harry part of me had been looked over, ignored. And now, for the first time, somebody loved me just because I like coconut ice cream or because I wear my shirt inside-out.

For the first time, I'd been loved for Harry.

Of course, Paradise doesn't last forever.

It wasn't long after that moment – a few weeks at most – that I was writing my report for class, and was met by hands jerking me out of my chair and a stinging slap in the face.

Blinking back the painful tears, I looked up into Ron's face, red and angry as I'd ever seen him.

"Ron… what…" I tried to ask him what the hell he was thinking exactly, but it was all too clear in his eyes. Bright and shimmering with his own tears, tears I knew that he would never dare shed in front of me.

He knew.

"You son of a bitch," he said to me in a furious whisper. The kind of anger that leaves you incapable of speech, that leaves you quaking. I watched him for a moment, just like I would watch Draco, and his anger said it all.

"Ron—"

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he asked, his tone tight and constricted. He wanted to hit me again, and I would have let him, at that point. He meant too much to me to hurt him, and I only bowed my head in shame.

"Harry—" He choked on my name, trying to compose himself. Hands trembling, he reached back as if to strike me again, and I flinched, but he just dropped the hand. "Why…? How could you…?"

My eyes found his. I found my eyes welling up too. "Ron, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. But… I just…"

He shook his head. "You didn't trust me enough, right?" he said coldly. I winced at the tone. "You… trust _Malfoy_… over me."

I remained silent, letting the thoughts run over in his head like I knew they were. Normally, when we would fight, he would assess the situation, think of a comeback that would hurt. Now, he just stood there, looking pathetically hopeless and his hands hung limply at his sides.

"I thought you would react badly," I replied truthfully.

He nodded slowly. "Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"No, I—" I shook my head, hands looking for something to do. "He loves me, Ron. He does. I can tell."

"He's just using you!" Ron accused. "He's looking for something physical! He has no emotional involvement in you whatsoever!"

He'd said it as if he knew. As if he should know the difference between physical need and emotional involvement. I stood up a little straighter, trying to get my own point across.

"He does. Draco loves me."

"Oh, so it's Draco now?"

"Yes!" I shouted at him, feeling my own face warm. "He's shown that he loves me where nobody else has before! He… He lets me know that he's there for me… He sees past the Boy Who Lived! He loves me for me!

There was a long and echoing pause. Ron's eyes were still brimming with tears as his face fell, as his mouth opened only slightly. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and then I suddenly just knew.

"Oh, Harry…" he said softly.

"He does. And you're so busy with Hermione anyway that you don't even have time for me anymore!"

Ron let loose a sob, and my heart sank in my chest. "Is that what you think? That… That I chose Hermione over you?"

I watched, entranced, as ran his hands through his hair and rubbed at his eyes.

"I chose Hermione…" He choked again. "I chose Hermione… because I chose you."

No doubt my expression was one of severe confusion. I blinked at him, and was taken fully by surprise as he stepped forward and kissed me. He tasted like mint from the candies at dinner, and his hands were in my hair, and I felt myself grip his back, looking for support as my knees went weak.

"I have always loved you just for being Harry," he confessed in a whisper, and I died in his arms.

"No," I told him, backing away. "I can't do this… I'm sorry…" He looked crestfallen, and tears shined on his cheeks, and he nodded.

"Fine," he said. "That's fine. Tell Draco I said congratulations, would you?" He turned to leave.

"Ron, wait—" I said, reaching for him, but he kept walking, his figure only a blur of something not-quite-there outside of the door.

Even today, I can only wonder if the choice I made was right.


End file.
